I definitely earned a great Friday night with a cold pitcher of beer, maybe a couple of Long Island iced teas and ultra memorable music. But all I remember was having a little more than I was supposed to and flirting away with some white guy who I’m sure I’m never going to recognize if I do see him again. There was a throng of dope heads and lonely peers on the scene, and I really felt like some cookie-cutter act tucked away in a corner of the room. Luckily, my frothy little friend drowned all feeling and injected me with a bout of mischievousness. I know I feel like this when I haven’t taken a 5 minute break between my drinks.
I remembered moments of my life when I had done this sort of thing on a regular basis and at the median age of 24 I feel like I’ve changed so much- from carnival hip hop girl to mad rock listener, all this spanning a few years. Through ups and downs, erratic output and an unpredictable trajectory it’s always been music that has exerted a powerful creative presence in my life. Incidentally, my relationships also reflect the bond cemented by music.
The past seems to be dipping its ugly little head into my now seemingly perfect world.
They say that sometimes you have to walk away from what you know so well in order to find who you really are. And there’s a reason why certain moments and certain men are in the past. While giving second chances seem fair, settling for less isn’t an option. And this has what the past few days have taught me. Truth seeks Soul.
Stayed at home all day to recharge. Perhaps rethink some things. Listening to Counting Crows version of Ryan Adams’ "Come Pick Me Up".